


Vigilante, Wannabe, Rich Boy

by geminus_17



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Dick Grayson Has Issues, Dick Grayson is a Ray of Sunshine, Dick is kinda mean, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, I know the Trickster isn't Batman's baddie, Imma do it anyway, Jason Todd is Red Hood, Jason Todd is So Done, Kidnapping, Lazarus Pit, Lazarus Pit Madness, Protective Batfamily (DCU), Protective Jason Todd, Tim Drake Needs a Hug, Tim Drake is Red Robin, Tim Drake-centric, Trickster (DCU), Worried Batfamily (DCU), crowbar - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-27
Updated: 2020-10-01
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:14:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 16,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26590468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/geminus_17/pseuds/geminus_17
Summary: Tim tries to help a classmate leave a life of crime but unwillingly ends up a part of it. Red Hood, Robin, and Nightwing to the rescue.
Relationships: Tim Drake & Dick Grayson & Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne & Damian Wayne
Comments: 9
Kudos: 159





	1. Classic Ones

“Useless!” Jason threw a socket wrench at his bike, with a broken headlight and in desperate need a new paint job.

“Why don’t you get a new one?” Damian mused from behind him, legs crossed and eyes closed in meditation. “It’s not like our father is a millionaire CEO or anything.”

Jason rolled his eyes. “Unlike you, I wasn’t born with money coming out my ass. Why buy a new hunk of crap when I can restore this! Piece of! Shit!” He struck the engine with syllable but sighed, running his hand over the words carved in red gas tank: _C. Todd_

“Do you need Tim’s help again?” Damian’s words brought Jason back to the Batcave, frustration growing again. Tim may be good with computers, and everything else it seemed, but this was his baby. The clutch might stick sometimes and part of the fender may have been missing, but it was the sentimental value that outweighed the physical. Even so, if he wanted to keep driving it around Jason supposed he needed all the help he could get.

“Fine,” he said, back still turned to his brother. “Get Tim.”

“Drake!” Damian yelled, still not moving from his cross-legged position on the floor. “Todd broke his bike and needs to be rescued.”

“Fuck off, demon brat!”

Tim sighed. His fingers continued to move across the Batcave’s huge computer; he was so close to finding an algorithm that would predict the Tricksters’ gang’s movements before they made them. He just needed one more-

“Drake!”

Tim’s lips set in a hard line. “What’s wrong with the bike?” he yelled back.

“The radio.” Jason called from below him.

“Any more information you’d be willing to tell me?”

“Just get down here!”

Tim sighed again and pushed away from the desktop. He got a running start to railing overlooking the garage in the cave and leapt over it. He dove into a summersault and landed beside his older brother.

“Showoff,” Jason muttered.

“What’s wrong with the radio?” Tim crossed his arms.

Jason had unscrewed the covering to the radio in the center console and tapped it with his wrench. “It blasts static every time I go over 25 mph. I’ve tried rewiring it, I’ve replaced nearly every part, but every station is static.”

“Have you tried turning off and back on again?” Tim walked around to the other side facing Jason with the bike in between. Jason made a face and watched his movements carefully. Tim knelt down and examined the radio. Nothing was visibly wrong with it so he pried off one of the speakers and reached inside.

“Whoa whoa what are you doing?”

“Relax,” Tim grunted, feeling around for what he suspected was inside. He smiled in satisfaction and pulled away with a jerk. Jason was ready to either cry or throttle him but before he could decide which Tim held up a small black box, no bigger than a thumbtack.

“What is that?” Jason peered at it.

Tim smiled. “A gift from Bruce. To ensure you don’t go too fast.”

Behind them Damian stifled his laughter as realization slowly dawned on Jason.

“I’m going to kill him,” he said through gritted teeth. “This time, actually kill him.”

“Well Todd, before you inevitably fail again, can you at least drop us off at school first?” Damian rose from his spot on the floor and slung his nearby backpack over his shoulder. “Some of us value education and don’t run from it.”

Jason snorted. “Says the kid who can speak three languages and drive a car.”

Tim smiled a bit at that. They were all too smart for regular school but needed the social interaction to blend in better with...normal kids. Bruce’s orders.

Jason sighed and threw the wrench down, cleaning his grease stained hands with an equally dirty rag. “Fine kiddos. Until Dick decides to grace us with his presence, I’ll drive you. But considering Bruce has taken it upon himself to limit my thrill seeking and my bike only holds two, it looks like we’re taking the minivan.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ta-da! The first chapter of my first fic! Don't worry, things do speed up from here, /and/ it's all written out, just being edited. And because I can't come up with chapter titles, they're all just going to be the first top lyrics I think of. Enjoy!


	2. I wish I knew you

The minivan was not an actual minivan. But it might as well have been for how slow it was compared it was to their Bat vehicles, even with Red Hood behind the wheel. Just before the first bell rang, Jason pulled up with a screech to Midler Private Day School in the Bat family’s normalist Pruis and dumped Tim and Damian before skirting out the of the parking lot and almost giving the crossing guard a heart attack. Tim gave Damian a farewell nod and turned to head to his classes. 

“Hey Timmy!” 

The young Bat turned. Victor Santos slung his backpack over his shoulder and pulled up next to him. 

“Sup, Vicki?”

“Man, you know you’re the only one who calls me that right? My grandma doesn’t even call me that.”

“Yeah, she probably calls you,  _ pequeño pedo _ .” 

Victor managed a smile at that and lightly shove at Tim’s arm. He hadn’t been smiling much lately but wouldn’t tell Tim why. He was starting to worry about his friend and his seemingly constant state of anxiety, especially since he’d started hanging around with the wrong crowd after his brother died a few months ago. As if on cue, a gruff adolescent voice behind them spoke.

“Santos.” 

Tim didn’t need to turn to see who it was, and neither did Vic apparently. He stiffened immediately but relaxed just as quickly. If Tim hadn’t known to watch for it he wouldn’t have even registered Vic change of mood, which had been happening more and more lately. Vic brother Tomas was a militant in Tricker’s urban army, a gang that spread from Central City and across Gotham and started to infiltrate schools, even the yuppie Midler Day. Tomas was about Jason’s age when he was killed in a shoot out with the police because, on the Trickster’s order, he and the gang had tried to rob Gotham Vaults, deep inside the old Barrimount Bank. The only reason the gang had gotten so far into the bank, past the dozens of guard on the ground level, laser sensors on the subterranean levels, and the attack dog--yes, attack dog--on the vault level was because Tomas had spent months as a security guard for the bank. He was pretty much the sole reason the gang got away with so much money and it had only cost him his life. For that, the Tricks had taken the Santos family under their protection, paying for funeral expenses, making sure Victor was in Midler Day, and only asked that the young Santos take his brother’s place in the gang. In the gang that had killed him. 

Victor turned around in the bustling hall, neutral expression expression plastered on his face. 

“Hey Cornie.”

Cornelius Johnston seemed to part the halls of Midler as he walked except rather than godliness, his fear was all the other students needed to immediately get as far away from his as possible. He was at least two years older than the kids in their grade but no one wanted to ask how many times he actual gotten held back. His nose had been broken probably a similar number of times and his eyes were so small they almost seemed entirely black. His uniform tie was purposely crooked and he had what looked like rust but definitely wasn’t on the collar of his white button up. Five other students flanked him, his cronies, looking similarly disheveled and like they’d all just smelt a garbage full of diapers. 

“Santos,” Cornelius stepped forward and placed a meaty hand on Vic’s shoulder. To his credit, Vic didn’t buckle under the pressure and made his eyes hard to stare Cornie back. “You know we were going to have a uh...meeting before school.” The bully’s eyes flitted to Tim, still by Victor’s side, then back to the smaller boy. 

“Didn’t know you thought you were better than us by hanging around with  _ Waynes _ .” Cornie made the last word drip with as much disdain as possible. 

Tim shrugged and calmly said, “I was just telling Vicki if he wanted to know what an illiterate toad and butt-ass ugly duck looked like, he should just search your name.” 

That got the reaction he wanted. Cornie snarled, real and truly snarled like a dog, and dropped his hand from Vic’s shoulder. Before he could step towards Tim, the second bell rang, warning students they had two minutes to get to class. A teacher appeared from the nearby classroom and clapped her hands.

“Come now, gentlemen. Let’s all get to class.”

Cornie and his gang turned to go as students started bustling around, not wanting to cause overt attention to themselves. Before the gang disappeared around the corner, Cornie looked back, giving Tim a murderous stare. He raise a finger and drew it across his throat, a clear sign if Tim had ever seen. Then the bully was gone. 

“Come on, Vicki.” Tim nudged his friend, eyes still frozen on the spot Cornie has vanished from. Tim’s light touch seemed to release the fear holding onto his friend and Vic sagged as he turned. He nodded slightly, relief but also apprehension clear in his eyes, and started to walk with Tim. 

“You shouldn’t have done that,” Victor murmured next to him, so quiet Tim wasn’t sure he’d actually spoken.

“Cornie might scare the school and half the teachers, but he can’t do anything here.” Tim shrugged and tried to act as casually as possible, for Victor’s sake. “ He’s just a bully. And you gotta admit, he does look like a toad. I thought he really was going to  _ ribbet.  _

Vic managed a scoff but it sounded halfhearted at best. Before Tim could say anything he nodded at him and ducked into class. Tim waved to his friend’s back and continued to his own first period but he knew he’d have a hard time concentrating on the Irish Revolution and  Pádraig  Pearse after the look Vic had given him. He knew Vic was scared of Cornie and the gang but there had to be something more to it than bullies and petty crime. Because Victor looked beyond scared. He was  _ terrified. _


	3. Breathe in. Breathe out

Tim didn’t have to wait long until he found out what Vic was trying to warn him about. Three periods and a lunch later, Tim was in English with Ms. Smith, coincidentally the teacher who shooed away Cornie and the Tricksters earlier in the day. She was a young teacher and tall, just in her first year at the school. Unlike most of their other new teachers, the kids at Medler Day didn’t give her shit because she didn’t let them. While teachers would gone home crying at the end of their inaugural week, Ms. Smith shut down any funny business on day one. She was strict; she was tough; you had to study all week for her exams, but she also made sure to go around to each of her students and learn their academic struggles. Some students were auditory learners, so she talked through every lecture. Some where visual learners so she made sure to have a presentation to go along with the topics. Every student was taking into consideration for Ms. Smith. Even Timothy Drake-Wayne. 

They were continuing their unit on Twelfth Night. Normally, at Midler Day, students had tests on Mondays, so they’d study during the weekend. It was Thursday but Tim’s class was silently working on a makeup test from the previous Monday that nearly the entire class--except for Tim of course-- had failed. 

Maybe that’s why they chose that day. Tim looked over his shoulder to the empty desk he knew Vicki should have been at. His fingers curled around his pencil. Vic should be here. He doesn’t skip class, unlike the rest of the gang. So why today? Why this period?

Tim should have seen it in hindsight. Something in his gut was telling him it was off. Vic not being in class. The interaction before in the hall. The _meeting_ Cornie said they were supposed to have before school. Before he could think too much about it, someone flew by the classroom, down the hall. Then another person. Tim was the only one who noticed the third and fourth student run by. 

“Mr. Drake-Wayne,” Ms. Smith said, breaking the silent classroom. “Eyes on your test, please.” 

Tim nodded and turned back to his finished exam, not quite knowing what was happening, but knowing _something_ was happening. He didn’t have to wait too long. 

There was a dull, _boom_. Some of his classmates glanced around. It sounded like it had come from the East Wing, on the other side of school. Ms. Smith had obviously heard it, raising her head from the notes on her desk, but didn’t want to alarm her students. She opened her mouth but didn’t get far enough to speak.

Another _Boom_ rang out and shook their desks. It like something heavy had dropped from a great height, only it was closer, maybe a few classrooms down. Tim had forgotten all about his test and was standing, ready to jump into action at the first sign of danger. The students started murmuring to each other, something Ms. Smith would have definitely chastised them about but she’d gone pale. Then, before even Tim could react, all hell broke loose.

And by hell, he meant bouncy balls. A huge _BOOM_ emanating from Ms. Smith’s desk shook their classroom and bouncy balls shot into all corners of the room, flying at such high velocity, they shattered the windows overlooking the courtyard. Tim screamed for everyone to duck but most were ahead of him, cowering beneath their desks, arms over their heads to protect from the flying toys. Tim stayed standing and raised his arm over his face, taking a few bouncy balls to the forearms, which he immediately knew would leave bruises but nothing else. The initial blast of balls had died as soon as it had come but the thing about bouncy balls was that they _bounced_. All around him, the balls were ricocheting off walls, cabinets, and other students and kept their velocity, though not as deadly. 

“Get outside!” Tim yelled at his classmates. As soon as the words left his mouth, they were drowned out by the fire alarm. Good, at least, Tim thought. Everyone would be getting away from the toys now. As the classroom began to filter out, the young Bat made sure he was the last to leave. In the nearly empty room, he surveyed the forgotten tests and backpacks, now littered with shattered glass and splintered wood. It was a good thing they were all seated, he thought. If they’d been up moving around, they would have had more targets for the blasts. Finally a test had actually done some good. As soon as he thought it, Tim’s blood ran cold. He turned to the front board, where Ms. Smith’s desk was and where the balls had blasted from...where Ms. Smith had been sitting and now was not. Tim wondered if she’d maybe left with the students but teachers were always instructed to make sure everyone was out before they left. Tim ran behind her desk and gasped. 

Ms. Smith had been sitting at her desk when the blasts occurred. It was only now Tim realized the blast had come from the front of the classroom and judging by how badly her chair was mangled, the blast came from right under where she was sitting. Ms. Smith was now on the floor, splayed out on her side. She moaned weakly, which was a good sign to Tim. He quickly rushed to her side and gently rolled her over onto her back. Tim grimaced. She might have stood slightly when she heard the noises coming from the hall, which would have saved her from getting blasted into pieces when the explosion occurred, but it also meant the force had pushed her up and made her head slam into the ceiling. Bits of plaster were around her, which also must have explained the small nicks and scraps that marred her bare arms. Tim didn’t worry about the superficial wounds; he was more concerned about her head. Blood was pouring from her crown and made her blonde hair sticky and stained red. Ms. Smith moaned again and weakly tried to sit up. 

“No, no.” Tim gently pushed her back down. “Ms. Smith, you’ve hit your head, you shouldn’t move until paramedics look at you.” 

Ms. Smith was pretty out of it but seemed to understand enough of what her pupil was saying. He managed to nod and relax back down. Tim glanced around, needing something to stem the bleeding. Because it was a head wound, it probably looked worse than it was, but this was not the time to take chances. Tim finally spotted Ms. Smith’s beige cardigan she’d taken off earlier in class not far from the desk. He grabbed it and carefully pressed it against the top of her head. The pale color started to turn a deep red and Tim grimaced. There was only so much he, as Tim Drake-Wayne could do, and this was not the time to reveal himself. He needed help. Sirens could already been heard over the intermittent fire alarms but who would know they were still in here? It probably wouldn’t take long for people to notice he wasn’t in roll call outside but how long until roll call? With all the confusion and pandemonium, it probably wasn’t high on teachers list to organize students into classes yet. Tim started going over his options, not wanting to leave Ms. Smith alone, when someone skirted to a stop outside their doorway.

“Drake?”

Tim let out a breath. “Damian. Behind here.”

Damian’s closely cropped black hair appeared over the desk. He had dirt smeared on his face and a couple of familiar round bruises Tim could already feel forming on his own arms but otherwise unharmed. 

“You weren’t outside,” Damian said, answering Tim’s unasked question. “I figured you would not leave until everyone else was out. What happened?”

“She was near the chair when it exploded and bouncy balls started popping out.”

“Tricksters?”

Tim nodded, not wanting to go further into detective mode when his English teacher was slowly bleeding out into his hands. 

“Get the paramedics that must be outside by now,” Tim said. “Tell them she’s hit her head and was near the explosions.”

Damian nodded, fully in Robin mode without the uniform. He paused. 

“Are you alright, Drake?”

Tim could have grinned. “Is that compassion I hear, Damian?”

The youngest Bat grunted what could have been acknowledgement or a curse before running back out the door to seek help.


	4. Before you end your day

When Tim called Jason to tell him not to be at school at the usual time to pick him up because Gotham police were questioning him about multiple explosions at school, Jason took it surprisingly well. 

“‘Ok...and?” 

Tim hoped his brother could hear him rolling his eyes through the phone. 

Jason seemed to. “Are you dead?”

“Jas--”

“Are you dead?”

Tim set his mouth in a hard line. “No.

“Are you being arrested?”

“No.”

“Do the cops think you did it?”

“No.”

“... _did_ you do it?”

“No!” Tim threw up his hands. “Listen, I just need you to pick me up an hour later than normal. I shouldn’t have even called. You’d probably have been an hour later anyway.” 

“See you soon, Timmy. Glad you’re not dead.” 

The line clicked and Tim handed the phone back to the paramedic he borrow it from on the condition the young boy would submit to a thorough medical work up. 

An hour and a half and concussion protocol later, Tim sat on the curb in front of the entrance to Midler Day. Most kids had gone home and the others were at their numerous after school clubs and activities. Damian had boarded his futsal team’s bus after Tim briefed him on what he overheard from the cops he had to keep telling Ms. Smith’s story to. Almost all the classrooms were found to have pressurized canisters in the chairs of teachers. They’d all exploded out bouncy balls that caused some cosmetic damage but nothing significant to the students. The only real injury was Ms. Smith because she was actually sitting on her chair. Tim left out the part about Victor being missing but told his brother about the meeting the Trickster gang had before school. Damian confirmed what Tim suspected.

“Evan Flanegan was absent from my classroom, as well.” The youngest Bat looked too much like Bruce while he reflected. “The boy is a known consorter with the gang. I saw two other members run through the halls prior to the attack. But why these useless balls, a harmless prank? They could have filled the canisters with shrapnel or nails and wreaked extreme damage.” 

Tim had been thinking the same thing but couldn’t come up with a possibility before Damian left. Now, sitting on the front curb, he still wondered but his line of thought was broken as he saw a figure creeping through the parking lot in front of the school. The lot was half full, mostly with teacher and older students’ cars so he didn’t have to creep but even so, Tim recognized the red mess of hair of Evan Flanegan. He was Damian’s age and shouldn’t have been going near a car, again, similar to Damian. 

Evan was supposed to be missing but he was moving towards a car that definitely didn’t belong to him. Tim slowly got up and followed into the parking lot. His Red Robin skills kick in and soon he was close enough to Evan to reach out. Instead, Tim crouched behind a nearby car and watched. Evan stopped at a black Jeep Wrangler Tim recognized as Cornie Johnston’s and fumbled with keys he’d been carrying but eventually opened the back passenger door. Tim strained to see what he was doing in the car but the Jeep sat on tires as tall as a middle schooler. Before long, the door slammed shut and the lights blinked to indicate they’d been locked again. Evan half ran back to where he’d come, around the side of the school facing the arboretum and disappeared into the open gym doors. 

Tim waited a beat then crept up to the Jeep. He didn’t dare try and open it, even though he could before Evan had time to say, _yikes_ , but he didn’t risk getting caught on school grounds breaking and entering. Rich families that sent their rich kids to Midler Day also had rich lawyers. Instead Tim stood on his toes to see into the car. The back seats had a few moving boxes labeled things like _Turkish China_ and _Boar’s tusks._ The one labeled _makeup_ had a flap open, allowing Tim to cup his hands against the window and peer inside. He saw hair spray bottle, Axe body spray, and bug spray. Definitely not makeup but also not a smoking gun. But looking closer, Tim saw some of them had chucks ripped out of them like someone had blown a shot gun shell through the cans.

Tim had a thought then. The devices in the school had been compressed air squeezed to the point of explosion. The kind compressed air you might find in say, aerosol bottles of hair spray and the dozens of other bottles currently in the back seat of Cornie Johnston’s car. The gang of mini Tricksters obviously had been practicing how to make aerosol cans explode and tested out their findings on poor Ms. Smith. And bouncy balls might have been Trickster’s MO but why go to such lengths to test the cans, rig them to explode, only to cause minimal damage? 

Movement caught the corner of Tim’s eye and he instinctually ducked lower. A familiar looking kid with jet black hair and tanned skin was looking over his shoulder as he walked towards the door Evan had gone into. Tim gritted his teeth and silently cursed. Victor ducked into the gym’s side door, looking rattled.

Tim had gotten more than enough evidence to bring to Jason and Damien, and he knew Bruce would give him a disapproving frown for going off to spy on the Tricksters alone, but Tim pushed his father’s stern voice out of his head and made his way over to the gym door. 

Most of the lights were out as the last of the sports teams had called practice not long ago, but a group of a dozen kids were lit up standing in a semi circle at the near corner of the gym. Tim only had to crouch beside the wall under a window to be able to clearly hear Cornie’s voice from the center of semi circle. 

“Excellent work, men. As we suspected, the devices worked and detonate by themselves, right on time.”

A murmur of praise went through the group except for one member who stayed silent and slightly away from the rest. Victor’s profile was visible to Tim through the crack in the door and even from 20 yards away, he could see his friend was shaking. 

“And as an added bonus, we nearly got old bird Smith decapitated, thanks to Santos.” Cornie pulled Vic into the center with him and wrapped an arm around him, squeezing just hard enough to make Victor grimace into a pained smile. “So we can move onto phase two without problem. Jackson!”

A lanky boy with stringy blonde hair straightened up, called to attention. 

“Go downtown and tell Mr. Sir the trick was pulled off without a second guess. He’ll want to know as soon as possible to move while the Bat is out of town.”

Tim stiffened. The Trickster’s gang was supposed to be low level crime, vandalism, destruction of property, nothing that concerned Bruce. Even Trickster-- Mr. Sir, apparently-- had fallen to Jason’s level of apprehension, though the con hadn’t made an appearance in weeks. 

Before he could think too much about it, Tim quickly hid himself in the shadows as Jackson ran to the doors out of the gym with his orders. Tim pressed into the brick wall and backed up into a grove of bushes. He was out of earshot of the gang and just as well, as he hear Jason’s familiar motorcycle backfire in the parking lot. Tim knew it was a risk but he pulled himself up to the nearest gym window and peeked in. The meeting seemed nearly over as the young boys milled more casually around but Tim’s eyes found the scrawny boy with a mess of curl black hair who looked like he’d rather be anywhere else but in that gym. Victor was glancing nervously around but suddenly found Tim, his head just visible in the far window. It wasn’t very Red Robin of him but Tim didn’t feel the need to be Red Robin right then. He needed to be Victor’s friend. He locked his gaze with Vicki’s and gave a short nod. Victor calmed a bit and nodded back. That was all Tim needed. He lowered himself down back into the bushes and ran over to the front of the school where Jason was leaning against his bike.

“Listen, the radio’s fine now but there’s oil leaking from somewhere and I had almost found it when I realized what time--”

“Jason I couldn’t care less about your excuses right now,” Tim huffed. “We might have a serious problem. And a potential witness who’d be willing to talk.”

*

Tim had resolved the next day to corner Victor and make him explain. Explain why he still bought into Cornie’s antics and why he was even associating with the gang that killed his brother--though Tim had a good idea why-- and make him explain what phase two was. Jason didn’t like Tim interrogating a suspect alone, even if it was in school.

“He’s not a suspect,” Tim shot back. “He’s my friend who’s in over his head. We can help without having to be Bats.”

“What part of ‘He’s a part of the Trickster’s gang’ don’t you understand?” Jason leaned further across the conference table in the Batcave he and his youngest brothers were arguing over. “None of them is going to talk, no matter how big your puppy dog eyes are.”

“This is an opportunity too large to pass up.” Damian pressed his fingers together in front of his lips. “With Father off planet, it falls to us to uncover and apprehend criminals. We need to gain further knowledge about the Trickster’s plans. I must agree with Drake.”

“I’ll just talk with him in class” Tim looked sincerely at Jason. His brother folded his arms and grunted. “Just talking.” 


	5. Demand for proof

The next day Victor didn’t show up for school. Tim kept hoping he’d appear in his next class or around the corner of the hallway but at the end of the day, Victor wasn’t there. Jason didn’t like Tim trying to talk at school so he probably would have tried to shoot him (again) if he found out Tim skipped his after school robotics club and hopped a bus to East Gotham. He’d  _ definitely  _ shoot Tim if he told Jason he was acting like Bruce. 

The young Bat rapped against door number 16a on Summit St and was about to lose hope when Victor opened the door.

“Tim,” he said, stunned. His expression quickly darkened. “What are you doing here? You shouldn’t be here. They could be watching the house.”

Tim didn’t even have to ask who  _ they  _ were. “Hey, I’m just a fellow classmate dropping off work my lab partner missed in school today.” Tim held up a few pieces of paper, all blank. 

Victor almost smiled before stepping out of the way to allow Tim inside. Tim had been to his friend’s house a few times and it always made him sad. Sad that Vic’s house was so  _ homey _ and all he had to go back to was a dark cave, an angsty zombie, a preteen assassin, and a usually absent father. It might have only been Victor and his mom, but the house was cozy and always smelled like fried dough. Mrs. Santos was a nurse but a baker at heart and usually tried to send Tim home with pockets stuffed full of rosco fritos, churros _ ,  _ or empanada de leche. Today the place was dark, not quite as cheery, but a hint of powder sugar still in the air. 

Vic gestured to an armchair in the living room and took paired seat opposite it. Tim shrugged his backpack off and gladly sank into the worn fabric. He was always a lot tireder than he thought when he visited his friend. 

“My mom’s at the hospital and won’t be back for a few hours,” Vic confirmed what Tim had been thinking. “She doesn’t know I skipped today.”

“Vicki...” Tim began. He had been practicing what he might say the entire way over but now that Victor was in front of him, so raw and vulnerable, the words didn’t seem to make sense anymore. At least as Red Robin, he might have been able to pull authority, or force someone to talk but this was his friend, in his house, waiting for his mom to get home. He tried again. “The cops know it was the Tricksters who pulled off the prank yesterday. They wouldn’t have made a big deal about it but Ms. Smith got really hurt.”

Victor paled at that. 

“She’s fine,” Tim quickly said. “Just a bump on the head. But they’re looking for who’s responsible. They’re going to find enough evidence eventually that puts Cornie and his minions away for a long time and who do you think they’re going to put the blame on?” 

Tim let the thought ingrain itself in Victor’s mind. He was already on the frays of the group, it wouldn’t be a stretch to imagine to think he’d be the first one thrown under the bus. Because for all they talk about being tough guys and Trickster’s right hand men, Cornie and them were still just kids. Scared kids who’d do anything not to go to jail. 

After a moment of Victor’s fingers dancing on the arm rest in unrest, he folded them in his lap. 

“I have a debt to pay to them,” he finally said. “When my brother died, they took care of everything legal and made sure we kept our house. I was stupid enough to think they were doing out of the kindness of their hearts or maybe they felt guilty for killing Tomas, but they wanted something in return.”

“You.”

Victor nodded grimly. “They wanted a replacement for my brother, for a general that they lost, but that’s not me. Tomas made some mistakes to land him on that path but he was fundamentally a different person than I am. I can’t do this anymore.” He buried his face in his hands. 

“I understand,” said Tim softly.  _ More than you’d ever know _ , he left out. “I want to help. You can get out of this life...and maybe help put away Cornie and stop Trickster’s antics.”

Victor snapped his head up, eyes wide. “Tim, that’s suicide! They’ll know it was me and they’ll come after me and my mom and we can forget about the house and they’ll probably fire my mom at the hospital and we’ll have to leave everythi-”

“Easy Vicki,” Tim held up a hand. “There’s a right way we can do this. If you give the cops enough intel, they can round the whole gang up and Trickster and Cornie Johnston will be nothing but a bad memory. You and your mom can stay at the mansion during all of it if you don’t want to stay here. Alfred is always bothering me about not having enough friends over.” 

That cracked a smile, a small one, but a smile nonetheless, to Victor’s face. He considered everything Tim was saying then took a breath. “Ok,” he nodded, resolve now replacing fear in his eyes. “You’re a true friend Timmy. Who do we contact first?”

It was Tim’s turn to smile, which he quickly turned from a smirk. “I think I have a few ideas.”

  
*  
  


It was a brisk fall evening by the time Tim closed the door to number 16a. He turned up the collar on his wool blazer and headed up the street. It was fairly a long walk back to the mansion on the other side of town and though Tim could have easily called Jason or taken the bus back home, he decided to walk. Being in the cozy house had dulled his senses and he needed them sharp if he was going to do everything he promised Victor.

Jason wasn’t going to be happy Tim did exactly what he was forbade from doing but Damien would be excited they’d have something to bring to Bruce when he got back. Nailing the coffin of Trickster’s gang was something Bat Inc. had been trying to do for years but the network was so large, it was almost impossible to catch the entire team. Almost. Victor Santos was going to be the lynchpin to bring the whole operation down. 

Tim was so busy congratulating himself and figuring out how he was going to tell Bruce, he didn’t notice the black SUV slowly inches a few yards behind him down the side of the street until it was nearly dark out. The streets were empty thanks to the cold whipping wind so he really should have been more careful. As Tim turned down a side street to cut off the main road from his route, he finally spotted the car out of the corner of his eyes. If he was Red Robin, he would have been instantly on alert that someone was following him, but as Tim Drake, who would want to follow him? Bruce warned the boys they might be kidnapped as ransom for Wayne family fortune but they had laughed off the thought of which ever poor kidnappers trying to take any member of the Bat Fam. It wasn’t like he was valuable to the public otherwise unless…

Tim whipped out his phone. The car turned down the same street and seemed to be a little closer. Jason’s pissed voice finally came through. 

“Listen you little shit, ditch Bruce all you want, I’ll even help you, but you dare try to ditch me? And you better not be interrogating that--”

“Someone is following me,” Tim cut him off, trying his best to keep his eyes forward and his voice calm. “I'm on Westmoore Street, just past the old car shop. I think it’s the Tricksters.”

Instantly Tim heard movement over the phone. Jason was running through the mansion and stopped enough to open to clock that led to the cave. 

“How many?” he asked, clearly jogging down the steps. Then a little too loud, “Damian, get your ass down here!”

“Unknown. Black SUV with Gotham tags. I’ll have to fight as Tim Drake if they come for me.” Tim went into Red Robin mode, analyzing the deserted street he was on, what he could use as a weapon, how he could use the unknown people in the car against themselves. 

“We’re there in 5 minut--get in the car Damien, of course I’m driving--because I can reach the petals, dip shit. Tim, we’re on our way. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t--” Jason’s warning got cut off by the screeching of tires. 

Tim risked a glance over his shoulder then took off running with the black car in hot pursuit. He knew he wouldn’t be able to reach the other end of the street before they caught up to him so Tim scooped up a rock he’d seen before, stepped to the side, behind a light pole and threw the it as hard as he could at the tinted windshield. 

The rock made direct contact and cracked enough for the driver to bring the car to a screaming halt. Then the occupants spilled out. If they had been Cornie and his fellow wannabes, Tim could have taken them no problem. But unfortunately Trickster seemed to realize how serious the Victor situation was. Ten meaty weightlifter looking security guard spilled out, reminding Tim briefly of a depressing clown car. They were unarmed, clearly meaning to take the young Bat alive with them. Like hell, Tim thought and swaggered out into the street. 

“Gentlemen,” he called in his best rich-kid-trying-not-to-get-kidnapped voice. “I don’t supposed I could give you each $50 and tell you to  _ fuck off _ ?”

The gloom patrol grunted as one and advanced. 

“Ok, have it your way.” Tim shrugged. He tossed his coat to the side and began rolling up the sleeves to his button up uniform. “But do know you had a chance to run and you threw it away. Now I’m going to have to kick your asses.”

  
*  
  


“You should have turned left right there.”

“Goddamn it, Damian, aren’t you supposed to be navigating?” Jason pulled the Batmobile sharply, ignoring the protest of horns behind and in front of them, and sped down the left he almost missed.

“Aren’t you supposed to know the city by now, Todd?” Damian quipped back. He adjusted his domino and gripped the car door, muttering a curse in Arabic as Jason made another steep turn down a small alley. “How could Trickster have known Drake was planning on exposing him by using the Santos boy?”

“Because Tim did exactly was he shouldn’t have, at least without me,” said Jason, flexing his grip on the steering wheel under his red leather gloves. The slick black car edged a little faster. “He probably went to the kid’s house, which was most likely under surveillance and tapped too. And now we have to rescue him.”

“Take a right turn in 20 yards and that’s where he should be.” Damian pointed at a street marked  _ Westmoore _ . “How long has it been?”

“Longer than 5 minutes.”

The car drifted hard around the final corner and Robin and Red Hood found themselves facing a battle. A losing battle by the looks of it. 

At the far end of the street, flanked by empty businesses and boarded up apartments, Tim was holding his arm close to his chest as he used both feet to kick a huge dude in the chest, sending him sprawling into another equally large man. Two others were already on the ground and not moving but Tim wasn’t fairing as well as he should have been. 

He cradled his left arm and seemed to be limping a little as he stood to face the other 5 henchmen that were ready to pounce. Jason revved the engine. Tim turned and there was blood slowly trickling down his face from a nasty cut on his forehead, but he understood was Jason was doing. Unfortunately in the time with Tim’s back turned, one of the attackers took something out of his pocket that glinted in the late day sun. 

“No!” Damian shouted. Jason gunned it down the alley but it was too late. Tim turned back in time for the brass knuckled thug to sock him clean across the face. He crumpled instantly. The Batmobile was nearly at the melee when the remaining thugs to throw down little pellets that caused thick black smoke to suddenly appear.

Jason pulled the car to a screeching stop. “Goddamn it.” He flew out of the car with Damien, ready to fight but when they got through the smoke screen the other end of the alley was empty. The Trickster’s men were nowhere to be found, even the unconscious ones. 

And Tim was gone.


	6. Level of concern

“We need to call him.”

Jason threw his fist down on the control panel of the Bat computer. “Like hell,” he growled. 

“It has been hours and you are no closer to locating Drake.” Damian uncrossed his arms and strode to Jason. They were both still in uniform, sans masks, back in the cave. Jason had been trying to ping Tim’s cell phone and tracker, the former of which was more than likely ditched on the side of a road and the latter, being in Tim’s uniform jacket lining, along with it, without luck. Neither of the two remaining Bats were good enough with computers to do anything else--that was usually Tim’s domain, Jason thought bitterly--but they did know someone who was. Two someones unfortunately.

Damian clicked his tongue. “What are you afraid of, Todd? Unlike most people in this city, she does not despise you. And she’s in a  _ wheelchair _ .”

With a sigh, knowing what he’d have to do, and endure, and probably punch, Jason turned to his brother. “It’s not her I’m worried about.”

  
*  
  


_ Worried  _ was not the most accurate word.  _ Tense _ . That one was good.  _ Pissed _ . Soon to be.  _ Dreading this conversation _ were the best three Jason could come up with as he watched a dark blue sports car spray through the waterfall entrance to the cave. He reluctantly pushed himself off the training mat and followed Damian to the garage. The youngest Bat at least seemed less anxious to greet their guests but then again, Tim and Jason were never his favorite brothers.

“Richard,” Damian quipped in greeting. 

Dick stepped out of the car, still in his Nightwing uniform. His black hair was longer than when they’d seen him last, which made sense. It had been a while since their last family reunion. And like most family reunions, Jason wanted to forget it. Dick threw up a casual grin but it was obviously hiding concern. And something else.  _ Disdain _ , Jason realized. 

“Hey Damian.” Dick returned the greeting by clapping a hand on his brother’s shoulder, about as much physical contact Damian allowed anyone. “Brought the asset you mentioned.”

“Oh I’m an asset now?” A voice came from the other side of the car and the door slammed. “Not part of the team? I do have my own name,  _ Nightwing _ .”

Around the end of the car rolled Barbra Gordon. She was wearing her civvies and a smile as well but her’s seemed a little more genuine. Jason relaxed slightly. If it had just been Dick, they wouldn’t have gotten very far in their search without some type of brawl between him and Nightwing but with Oracle here, they’d have a buffer and might actually get some work done. Or at least get some work done while the two boys yelled at each other. 

“Hey, Jay,” Barbra rolled over to where he stood slightly behind his brothers. 

“Hey, Babs.” He allowed himself to be pulled into a hug. It was Barbra, who could say no? “Long time no see.”

“Well, you know I’m more a talker, myself.” Her eyes danced, then became dim. “I wish it was under better circumstances.”

Jason nodded grimly and set his mouth in a hard line. Dick sighed. 

“Well,” Barbra clapped her hands, breaking the growing tension. “Let get down to it. Tell me everything.”

  
*  
  


The yelling started when Jason told them Tim had gone alone to see Victor Santos, just when he thought it would.

“Alone?!” Dick practically shouted, but grit his teeth so it came out more as a growl. A very Dark Knight-esque growl. “Why didn’t he have backup?”

“He would have had back up if he had told us where he’d gone, dumbass.” Jason was trying very hard not to meet Dick’s level of fury but it was getting harder and harder every time the golden boy opened his mouth. 

“What were you thinking, Jay? Why didn’t you pick him up from school?”

“He had computer science club after school, which you would know,  _ Dick _ , if you bothered to get your head out of Bludhaven’s ass once in a while.”

“How many where there?” Barbra interrupted. She had stationed herself in front of the Bat computer and was hacking into security cameras around Tim’s last known location to see where the car had gone. She’d gotten it as far as the river but lost connection in the empty industrial parks. 

“Ten,” Damian answered from behind her chair, keeping up with the screen. “Well trained, most likely by the Trickster.”

“If he trained ten, there’s gotten be more…” she trailed off, her fingers briefly pausing on the keyboard. “And you’ve gotten hide a bunch of meaty thugs somewhere big.” Her fingers started typing again. 

Damian paused, studying what she was doing. “You are going to search every warehouse in Gotham?” He scoffed. “There’s dozens.”

“Not if you follow the path of the car, Tim’s last known coordinates, and the ones big enough to house an army,” Oracle murmured. “This’ll take some time but it shouldn’t be long.”

Dick turned back to Jason. “You were supposed to be in charge.”

“Hey, I never asked to be in charge,” Jason spat and jabbed a finger in Dick’s face. “I never asked to be in this goddamn family. You’re the big brother, you’re the one who’s supposed to be here, taking care of your precious family, not gallivanting around some other city trying to prove you’re not the boy wonder in tights anymore.”

“You’re right, Jason it’s my fault.” Dick threw his hands in the arm in mock pity. “ _ My _ fault for letting Tim go off on his own to a known Trickster house. It’s  _ my  _ fault for letting Tim get himself overwhelmed and kidnapped.” He clenched his fists and stared his brother in the eye, letting his voice drop. “That only thing that’s my fault is thinking you cared about someone other than yourself.”

Jason let the anger he’d been holding back burst over him. He took a step forward so he was nose to nose with his brother and his voice was icy. “You weren’t there Dick. You haven’t been there. You don’t drive him to school, bandage his wounds, train him every night. If you think  _ Batman  _ does any of that, you belong in Arkham. While you’re off swinging through Bludhaven, meeting up for cool space adventures with the Titans, and just generally kissing Bruce’s ass, I’m the one who has been keeping Damian in check and raising Tim. You don’t get to waltz in here and tell me I don’t care about him. Because the only person I couldn’t care less about is you, you hypocritical motherfucker.” 

Dick had fury in his eyes, even though he knew what Jason was saying was true. His cheeks flushed as he raised his hand but an alarm dinged on the computer.

“Gotcha.” Oracle sounded satisfied and not like the two guys behind her had almost come to blows. “Narrowed it down to a half dozen warehouses and arenas big enough to house and train Trickster’s men. You’ll have to search them manually, I can’t see in them from here.”

“We’ll need some backup,” Dick said, forgetting his spat with Jason coming to stand behind Barbra’s chair to look at the screen. “Who’s the closest?”   
  
Oracle tapped the keyboard a few times and a blinking dot appeared on the map. “Ollie. On a business trip from Star City in Gotham. He can be there in 15. I’ll send all the information to your comms.”

Jason folded his arms and grunted behind them all. 

“What?” Dick sighed angrily as if he could see Jason rolling his eyes.

“Green Arrow? Mr. I-can’t-kill-anymore? I’d rather take Barbra into the field. At least she broods less.”

“ _ We  _ don’t kill.” Dick looked back like Jason had somehow forgotten Batman’s most sacred rule.

“ _ You  _ don’t kill.” He wagged a finger between himself and Damian and put his domino back on. “ _ We’re _ a little more understanding.”

“No. Killing.” Dick stared at Damian until he reluctantly nodded. He turned to Jason, already stalking towards his bike. “Bruce would have a field day with that. Got it?”

“What?” Jason slid the Red Hood helmet over his head and revved the engine. “Can’t hear you, I think you’re head’s too far up Bruce’s ass.”

With that, he revved the engine once more and burned rubber skirting out of the cave.

  
*  
  


They had six warehouses to search, all over the north side of Gotham. Most were abandoned in the industrial neighborhood but some were privately owned. The ones Oracle couldn’t pull up tax returns on were added to the list. Even with Oliver, who was taking his sweet time to get out of his business meeting, it would take them all night to search and clear every building. And it had started to rain. 

“Split up,” Jason grunted into the comms. He didn’t have to yell into the mic for the rest of them to hear past the wind and water rushing by his bike. He was headed for the closest warehouse, an abandoned car manufacturing plant on Miller.

“We need to stick together,” Dick’s disapproving tone clipped back. He and Damian were taking the Nightwing mobile, or whatever the hell he was calling it these days, and were ten blocks behind Red Hood. “Haven’t you forgotten how this all started?”

“You’re not showing up to play leader now.”

“Nightwing, he’s right,” Barbra chimed in and cut off the argument before it got a chance to start. “About splitting up. There’s plenty of ground to search and Tim’s already been MIA for four hours. The sooner he’s found the better.”

She didn’t have to elaborate on that. Even Jason knew, whatever Tim was enduring, it was too long already. 

After a moment, Dick sighed lightly. “Fine. But radio as soon you’ve found something.”

“The only time I’m taking orders from you is if it involves punching you in the face.” Jason muted his comm and screeched to a stop in front of the Miller warehouse. 

“Hey, O?” he said into the mic, only going to Barbara back in the cave. “Can you get a read on a kid named Victor Santos? Lives on the east side and goes to Midler Day.”

“I can have his 8th grade book report in minutes,” Barbara chirped back. “What about him?” 

“Can you make sure he and his mom have a place to go for a few weeks? He was the kid Tim was trying to help and I know Timmers would kill us if we didn’t take care of them after all the trouble he went to”

“Some might say,  _ caused _ . Not me, obviously, but some.” Barbara’s attempt at a smile could be heard through Jason’s ear but he didn’t return it. He muted his comm again, this time to everyone.

Jason took his bike helmet off and peered up at the broken windows through the driving rain. For a moment he let himself wonder what Tim was going through but the thought quickly drew him back. Jason shook his head.

“I’m coming Timmy,” he whispered. Then dove through the door.


	7. They said he had lost his mind

“What has two thumbs that are getting ready to be broken?”

Tim cracked his eyes as a voice swam into his head. The world slowly came into focus, though Tim would have been fine if it hadn’t. He was strapped to a chair, arms tied tightly behind his back and ankles bound to the metal legs. Though it was dim and his head still rang slightly, Tim’s training kicked in automatically and he quickly took stock of his surrounds. He was in a large office, abandoned by the looks of it, that overlooked what seemed to be a manufacturing floor at least 30 feet down. He couldn’t see the bottom through the cracked and dirty bay windows but there was light coming from the ground and the dull clatters of people moving equipment around. 

Tim’s jaw felt bruised, no doubt from that last blow with the brass knuckles, but there was also a thin yet constant stream of blood coming from just above his eyebrow. He vaguely recalled three goons coming at him and taking almost all of them down but not completely dodging the one with the knife. His left arm was numb too but he couldn’t tell if that was from the alley or if he’d been sitting with his hands behind him for too long. 

“There he is.” The same voice that had jarred him now mused in front of Tim. Trickster emerged from the shadows in a corner of the office and Tim had to quickly hide his look of surprise. The rouge was different. Wally always said Trickster was bumbling, unsure, goofy almost. But none of that was present. Now a lean, calm, man in a chic pinstripe suit with a deep crimson tie walked up to Tim. He could have been mistaken for an attendee at one of the Wayne Enterprises galas Bruce forced his sons to attend or a high class magician who had his own Vegas show. 

“Timothy, we are on a schedule here.” Trickster glided with a walking cane into the ring of light a suspended lamp cast over Tim. A glint caught Tim’s eye and he realized the cane was tipped with a yellow sapphire. Things certainly had changed for the Trickster. 

Tim was ready defend himself and remember all the lessons Bruce had drilled into their head about interrogation but then realized who the Trickster was talking to. He had captured Tim Drake-Wayne, billionaire son, who had poked his nose too deep into the seedy underworld of the city on which he floated above. They weren’t expecting Red Robin, vigilante extraordinaire, to be tied to this chair; they were expecting a privileged kid who probably was trying to play hero. Well, then that’s what they were going to get. 

“Listen, my father hardly ever pays ransoms of over $50,000 for me, so you better stay below that,” Tim said, trying to be a confident brat hiding his terror. It wasn’t as hard as he thought. “If you wanted any more, you should have gotten my younger brother, though I might have paid you to keep him.”

Trickster didn’t move a muscle. “Who were you planning on giving the information to?”

Tim paled then cursed himself. He should have known Victor’s place had probably been bugged. He’d gotten sloppy again because he wanted to help his friend. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Well, we’ll see what Mr. Santos has to say about your little afterschool chat.” Trickster turned on his heel and headed for the door. 

“The police,” Tim quickly blurted. He couldn’t let anything else happen to Vic and his family. He’d never be able to forgive himself. Better to keep the heat on him than his friend. “I was going to tell the police what I knew. Let them do with it what they wanted.”

After a pause, Trickster turned back. He considered Tim for another moment then, quicker than Tim would have thought possible, he closed the gap between the two of them and shoved his face in front of Tim’s. The young bat recoiled slightly. The sudden cologne odor coming from his captor was overpowering and smelled like it was covering something else, something more pungent, like a smoker trying to hide his putrid tobacco stench. Tim realized then that’s what this whole act was. A smooth talking, smooth dressing man was just barely hiding the unhinged criminal who was now looking Tim directly in the eyes. Red rimmed eyes bore into his and Tim shifted slightly to get away from the uncomfortable stare. Just as quickly as he had come, Trickster stood back and smoothed his jacket. 

“I know that’s not true,” he purred. The stage magician was back. “Vigilante brat wannabes like yourself, Mr. Wayne, don’t just go to  _ the police _ . You have connections. That’s why Victor came to you, isn’t it?”

“First off, it’s Drake-Wayne, get your facts straight, Trickie. Vic didn’t even wa--” 

Tim’s response was cut short by the Trickster’s backhand. He hadn’t been expecting it, which made his face hurt a lot more, both from the surprise and from Bruce’s voice in his head, chastising him for not seeing it. His cheek sprung into a burn.

“Do not lie to me, boy.” The criminal brought his hand back around for a proper slap and sent Tim’s head spinning the other way. The room swam again, which was not a good sign, Tim vaguely thought. He’d been hit too many times in the head in the past few hours--god, how many had it been?--and if he didn’t already have a concussion, he was well on his way there.

Trickster sighed and leaned on his walking cane. “Don’t treat me like a common criminal, young man. I know the rich have connections all over Gotham and beyond. Your father has had galas attended by the Gotham elite, the entire police force, and even the Senator. You will tell me who you were going to.”

Trickster started to walk around his captive, keeping to the edge of the light, and Tim couldn’t help but imagine a panther stalking around his prey. 

“The Commissioner, perhaps?” Trickster mused. “Or maybe the mayor? Maybe even Batman.”

Tim stilled as Trickster stopped in front of him. He couldn’t know, Tim thought. He was just grasping at straws. Luckily, at Batman’s mentioned, Trickster seemed to grow thoughtful. He stared out the broken windows overlooking the main level and paused before he spoke again.

“You know, when the Batman and his allies defeat you so many times, you have to wonder, what am I doing wrong? Is it the people you hire? Is it your end goal? Is it even your outfit?” Trickster walked over to the window and looked down. “Well it turns out, all you have to do is stop committing overt crimes and leaving a trail of literal marbles wherever you go and the big, bad Bat will just  _ leave you alone _ to plan one of the biggest and bloodiest crimes in Gotham’s history, which is saying a lot.” He chuckled fondly. “Funny how that works.”

Tim cursed silently. Bruce had been slacking, he had to admit. But with Two Face’s resurgence, Jason’s general antics, Dick’s relocating to Bludhaven, and Damian’s constant surprises, Trickster and his gang had fallen off Bat Inc’s radar. Maybe that’s why Tim was so gung ho about Victor’s information. If he could bring down a major criminal enterprise without Batman’s--or anyone’s--help, he’d finally prove his worth. Tim would have liked to say prove it to himself but he knew it was to really to prove to the rest of his family he still had a place. Prove to Jason he was worthy of being his successor, prove to Damian he was just as useful as Red Robin as he was Robin, prove to Dick there were still criminals in Gotham than needed to be dealt with more than in Bludhaven, and prove to Bruce--prove to Bruce he was worthy of being Batman’s partner. Instead he was stuck at the mercy of a loon wearing a razor thin veil of composure. Tim’s fury started to bubble up. Even if he couldn’t physically hurt Trickster, Tim still wanted him to suffer. 

“Well,” he put all his rich bratiness into his voice. “Maybe you and your gangsters should have had a longer company retreat before you tried to blow up a school full of Gotham’s richest kids.” 

“Oh my boy, I’m afraid you’re mistaken.” Trickster turned back to Tim and the old fury started to creep back. “Gangsters get angry. Villains get classy.”

“You must be pretty angry then,” Tim taunted, leaning against the bonds to get as close to Trickster as possible and let the venom drip off every word. “Because you’re still just a knockoff Joker.” 

As soon as the words left his mouth, Tim knew he was going to hurt but didn’t regret it. It was worth seeing Trickster’s eyes dilate back to a common criminal at the insult. Instantly he raised his walking stick, yellow handle glinting briefly again, and slammed it into Tim’s chest. Tim let out a soft  _ oof _ and doubled over. He briefly had time to consider the stick was heavier than it looked before it came at him again. The gem cut across his face, slicing a thick cut from his right ear to the corner of his mouth.  _ That’s gonna scar _ , he thought as the stick came across his back, once, twice. Tim grunted at each blow, trying to keep Trickster from getting the satisfaction of hearing his cries of agony. After the a few more heavy blows to the chest and Tim wondering horrified if this is what Jason felt like, Trickster straightened up. He was breathing heavily. He took in Tim’s limp form, doubled over to protect what he could of his chest and stomach, and inhaled sharply, slicking his own jet black hair back. 

“Maybe you are just a vigilante wannabe, rich boy,” Trickster murmured, not quite as composed as before. “We’re just lucky the son of the richest man in Gotham decided to play hero, albeit quite poorly. We’ll let the Wayne family and Gotham police whip themselves into a tizzy trying to find you then make the call in the morning. Perhaps send them a finger. Until then, Mr. Wise Guy, you’re all ours.” 

Trickster turned gracefully on his heel and walked out of the office, letting the old door close slowly behind him, and let Tim wonder how long he’d be able to keep his finger until back-up found him. If they could find him. 


	8. I know where you stand

Jason knew he hit gold before even pulling his bike to a stop. After he cleared two warehouses on the east docks, and Nightwing and Robin cleared one on the west and Oliver finally managed to clear the one next to it, their options had been dwindling. Oracle had said there were only two more left. One in the north of the city, a private garage without any cameras around or in it, and one near the port, another abandoned car manufacturing plant, left from Gotham’s better days. Jason called the car plant before Dick and Damian were done with theirs. Now it was only a question of which brother would find the right warehouse. For once, luck seemed to be on Red Hood’s side. 

The supposedly abandoned plant had a dull glow coming from within that streamed out of the broken windows of the giant building overlooking a cracked and overgrown parking lot Jason pulled up to. Shutting off his engine, he could hear dull clangs of machinery and the occasional voice barking orders from inside. 

Jason crept forward until he was underneath one of the massive windows at the front of the building. He had to stand on his toes to see in and he didn’t like what he saw. The manufacturing floor had been turned back into a assembly line that would make Henry Ford shit his pants. Dozens upon dozens of what could only be assumed to be Trickster’s minions were on the floor, sending packages up and down the assembly line, pausing only long enough to put some wires and bags into each package. 

“Red Hood.” Dick’s voice crackled in Jason’s ear. He turned back from the window and crouched down, pressing a finger to his comms. “Red Hood, have you found anything in the port?”

Jason pressed his lips together under his helmet. He should radio what he’s found and wait for the others to get here before going in. He’d have more backup and...it’s what Tim would have done. And Bruce. Jason could almost snort. Of course that’s what Bruce and Tim and Dick would do. Be good little soldiers and wait for someone to outrank them before going into battle. But he wasn’t a good soldier. Jason was hardly a good son. But he had resolved long ago to be a good brother. And Tim needed him asap. Who knows what they could be doing to him in there? Who knows if he’s even still--

“Hood?”

Jason shook his head and spoke clipped into the comms. “Still en route.”

“We are two minutes out from the north location. I’m sending Green Arrow on to intercept you and assist with the sweep…” Dick paused. “Don’t do anything stupid.”

Internally, Jason chuckled. Good ole Dick Grayson to play the odds and make sure someone was watching his younger brother to ensure he didn’t go full Lazarus pit on any undeserving baddies of Gotham’s underworld. Little did he know Jason was well aware of Dick’s precautions.

“Sure thing,  _ Nightwing _ ,” he grunted into the comms before switching it off. Oracle could reach him if she wanted but Jason needed as much peace and quiet as possible while he rained hell fire down on the thugs who hurt his little brother. 

He stood up and made for the front door, left slightly ajar because no one was dumb enough to even think about confronting Trickster’s base of operations from the front door. But they hadn’t met Red Hood yet. Jason paused for a moment in front of the door and cracked his neck muscles, listening. 

This was going to be fun. 

The last thing Trickster’s gang was expecting to come blasting through the door was a member of Batman’s entourage (how ever distantly he was). They also didn’t expect Batman’s former protégée with guns ablazing. Or how Red Hood wasn’t aiming to incapacitate or slightly injury. No, Jason was aiming to kill. And he did.

All of the round of his two glocks were able to be fire through flesh before the criminals knew what was happening and that 20 of their compatriots were lying dead or quickly dying. But once they did realize they were under attack, they jumped to defense faster than Jason would have liked. He actually would have like if they’d all taken their own guns and shot themselves in the face but he didn’t want to press his luck. Anyway, Dick would probably be there within minutes, finding his own target a dud and Oliver tattling. Didn’t matter. Jason was going to enjoy the time he had with the shitheads of Gotham. 

After spending his glocks, he threw them down and grabbed the nearest Trickster thug and threw him into two others. They all went down in a sickening heap but Jason was not able to relish it when three more baddies charged at him. Out of bullets, Red Hood pulled out his jagged dagger and started hacking. One got a blade across the throat; another got stabbed in the chest. Jason couldn’t remember how the rest of them got the blade because his vision start going green. It was usually tinged because of the helmet but the manufacturing floor, the baddies coming at him and dropping, the world turned an icy green as he shut off his mind and became what he was brought back to do: become a killing machine.

The only thing that kept him from going full Lazarus crazy was a simple thought. Tim was in trouble. His little brother needed him. So instead of hacking until there was nothing left, Jason focused on his surroundings. The assembly line had ground to a halt and there was an alarm going off. The gang members, who had been neatly putting the assembly packages together, were running every which way, grabbing guns and brass knuckles and whatever they could get their hands on. Except one of them. Jason jerked his knife behind him and listened at a body fell and didn’t move. There was one gang member, a kid it looked like, who was standing in the middle of the chaos, not sure where to go. He was thick (physically and mentally by the looks of it), with a nose that had been broken too many times, and looked vaguely familiar. Jason wasn’t sure why but he wasn’t carrying a weapon and seemed like someone who might know where Tim was. 

Red Hood hissed suddenly and whipped around to a slim and scared looking thug who had managed to clip his leg with a bullet as Jason was studying the kid across the room. It was just a graze but it hurt like hell. The thug looked like he was about to piss himself so Jason just clocked him in the nose rather than sending a blade between his eyes. The thug crumpled and Red Hood turned back to the kid. 

A few sprays from a fallen criminal’s gun, a dozen punches, and quite a few stabs brought him across the room and face to face with the chubby kid, no older than 17, who was trying to hide behind the stairs. Jason latched onto his shirt and dragged him out. In the confusion and chaos on the floor, he was able to get a moment of interrogation in. 

“The boy,” Jason’s growl was low and deep, like a strangled animal. “Where is he?”

“D-don’t hurt me!” The kid tried to cover his eyes and squirm away but Jason tightened his grip and brought his fist back. He slammed it against the kid’s face, not hard enough to kill but enough that it hurt. 

“I’m not asking again, pissant.” Jason raised the kid by the front of his shirt, making him stand on his toes to look Red Hood straight on. “The boy.”

“Office!” the kid finally cried and pointed a shaking pudgy finger to the pair of large windows overlooking the plant floor. “M-Mr. Sir brought him up to his office, there!”

“Was that so hard?” Jason smiled under his mask then punched the kid again. He let him fall and gasp before slamming a steel toed boot into his stomach. Red Hood was aware the other thugs were regrouping and reloading elsewhere behind him but all he could think about was causing this kid harm. He looked familiar and that was all he needed to be wailed on. Jason reached down and raised him up again, with a lot more effort this time, and pulled his fist back when a heavy hand came down on his shoulder. For a moment he tensed, ready to flip this new person on the ground for daring to touch him. Then a voice said,

“That’s enough, Hood.”

Jason sighed internally and took a moment’s pause to dropped the kid in a heap to scurry away. 

“Took you long enough.” Red Hood turned to his brother. Behind Nightwing, Robin and Green Arrow were subduing and zip tying a good chunk of the Trickster’s gang. 

“You knew you should have radioed,” Dick bristled. 

“You knew I’d never do that,” Jason replied cooly. He wanted to get into it then and there with Dick but there were more important things at stake. “Tim’s up there.” He pointed to the broken windows above them then socked a baddie who charged them. Dick did the same with the one who came after him. 

“Let’s control the situation down here before going up. There’s no telling what’s waiting there.” 

“Oh no, Robin’s getting overrun!” Red Hood pointed over Nightwing’s shoulder. Dick whipped around but found Damian delivering a final knockout to a baddie. He cursed and by the time he turned back, Jason was halfway up the stairs and a dozen more thugs had appeared on the plant floor. 

“Damn it, Hood!” Dick shouted then launched himself at the approaching goons. 

It was quieter up on the upper level as Jason, cackling silently to himself, crept up the stairs and turned the corner to the office hall. Most of the baddies were no doubt called to the main floor to deal with the mini hurricane he had let in and Jason was just fine with that. Let the backup barrage subdue the rest of Trickster’s gang. He had more important things to worry about. Plus the leg with the bullet graze was starting to cause him a lot more pain now that he was out of the main melee. He also had a knife wound to his right arm, which he hadn’t noticed before. 

A quarry of footsteps approached from the other end of the dimly lit hallway and Jason pressed himself into the shadows. Half a dozen gang members ran past him and down the stairs to the plant floor, letting loose shouts of rage and adrenaline as they went. Watching them go, Jason felt a twinge of emotion. Was that guilt? He was leaving Dick, Damian, and even Oliver to handle the mess he started and no matter what he said, it would kill him if any of them got hurt because of this. 

Jason shoot his head. As quickly as the thought had come, it was gone. He would go back and finish the rest of the gang off just as soon as he knew Tim was alright. And Trickster was no longer breathing. He slunk from the shadows and moved further down the hall, towards the only door with light coming from it. 

The upper floor once was the backend of the manufacturing plant. Empty and rotting cubicles stretched in the bullpen before the executive suites. One door was labeled  _ Associate Manager _ , with most of the vowels missing. Jason crept to the office that once belonged to the  _ Plant Manager  _ (or  _ Pl_n Ma_g_r) _ and paused. He couldn’t hear anything from within over the din of street fighting below, but he knew what was behind that door. Who was behind it. 

Pulling his knife forward, Jason steadied himself then leapt at the door. His boot connected and slammed it inward. The office definitely was once the boss’ because it was the size of three cubicles. The outline of a massive desk could be seen against the opposite wall, shrouded mostly in darkness. The entire left wall was windows, most of them cracked and filth stained or outright shattered, overlooking the plant floor. It smelled of mildew and dust and something else. Something Jason prayed he wouldn’t have found. Blood. 

In front of him, a few steps into the office and next to the desk, a metal folding chair was illuminated by a naked bulb hanging from the cracked ceiling. In the chair was a young man. With a breaking heart, Jason realized he looked like more like a boy. Tim was slumped, his chin touching his chest, obscuring his face. He seemed to be breathing but blood was slowly dripping off his black bangs. Every breathe was hitched and his right arm was bent a little odd, still in his school button-down. At the sound of the door being kicked open, he hadn’t raised his head but eventually brought his eyes to meet Jason’s. 

Jason’s heart broke and his blood boiled. Tim looked awful. He was sporting a deeply off-colored black eye along with a few other nicks on his face but what really drew Jason’s attention was the deep gash that started almost at his brother’s ear and ended at his cheek. It was still oozing thick crimson blood. 

Jason stepped into the office. “Little bir--” 

Immediately he felt something long and dense come across his back and he stumbled forward, closer to Tim. Jason whipped around as the door slammed shut behind him. 

“Well, well,” Trickster emerged from behind the door, swinging his yellow tipped cane in circles like a majorette. Jason quickly took in his change of attire but paid it no mind. He was still dirty, rotten street scum that hurt his little brother. That meant he had to die. “It looks like our time had been cut short, Timothy. I suppose your family won’t be getting a finger after all. Just your beaten, bloody corpse.”

Before he could think of a witty retort (and trust him, it definitely wasn’t just  _ fuck you _ ), Trickster charged at Jason with his cane. Jason blocked the first blow and countered with a sweeping leg kick but Trickster bounded out of the way. He drew little black balls out of his pocket and for a moment Jason thought he was going to pull a disappearing act like his goons in the alley but Trickser threw them at him instead. Tiny weighted marbles pummeled Jason’s chest of kevlar but they still hurt, like icicles falling. Unfortunately for Trickster, those little marbles really just made Jason mad. And nobody should be around Red Hood when he was mad. With a feral growl, Jason surged with his knife. Tim tried to keep up with the duel but whether it was the blood in his eyes, the concussion, or Red Hood’s ferocity on par with Trickster madness, the two of them started to blend together into one moving blur of red and pinstripe. 

Tim had come back to his senses thanks to Jason’s entrance but all that made him feel like was a damsel in distress who could not handle it while his brother fought for him. As if on cue, Jason landed heavily on the massive wooden desk next to Tim’s chair. Hood managed to slide something across the desk and it clattered on the ground before Trickster pulled him back into the fight. Focusing with what little attention he had left, Tim started to move with his feet the tiny dagger Jason had dropped for him. It would have been tons easier if Tim could fully feel his feet, but he managed to get the blade balanced on one foot. Trying to ignore Jason’s grunts and Trickster’s giggles, Tim jerked his foot up and back. He didn’t time it quite as right as planned, he realized as the dagger fell short of his finger tips and burrowed into his palm. At least he had it in his hand, he thought briefly, furrowing away the pain, before starting to hack at the ropes tightly tying his wrists to the chair. 

Once the repetitive motion of the knife was handled, Tim’s eyes wandered back to his brother who was evidently taking a beating but kept laughing and throwing taunts along with fists. 

“Come on, Tricky, you should be in a retirement home with that walker!” he jeered. Jason had nearly forgotten about his throbbing leg and quickly tiring arm because he had his target in his sights. And Jason never lost focus. Trickster let loose a guttural growl and charged with the cane held with both hands above his head. Jason smiled under his hood and threw his knife directly at his opponent’s face. Tim couldn’t believe what he was seeing. His brother really would have decapitated Trickster if the criminal had not shifted to the right at the last second, slicing a bit of his ear off instead of his entire head. Tim knew Jason didn’t like to follow Bruce’s rules and Trickster certainly wasn’t  _ his  _ favorite person at the moment, but killing was Batman’s cardinal sin. Damian didn’t even do it anymore. 

That little shock seemed to be the lynchpin Jason needed to gain the upper-hand. He threw out his fists in rapid succession and connected with Trickster’s face every time. The villain staggered back, drawing a hidden dagger from the yellow hilt of his cane. He threw it faster than Tim would have thought possible at Jason and for a moment, he was scared his brother was going to end up with a chest full of yellow sapphire. But Jason brought both hands out and caught the knife between his palms, inches from his helmet. Even Trickster seemed stunned at that one. 

“Bad move, asshole.” Jason tossed the dagger casually in his hand, getting a feel for it, then threw it at Trickster. And this time, he didn’t missed. The blade burrowed so deep into Trickster’s shoulder, only the yellow gem was visible. Jason didn’t give him a chance to recover before stalking over and yanking the blade out with a sickening crunch that made even Tim look away. Jason gripped Trickster with two hands and launched him across the room. The lead gangster crashed with a heavy thud on the desk next to Tim and didn’t move right away. Jason stood stooped, chest rising and falling rapidly. 

“Time to end this, Tricky.” Jason took only one step toward the desk then froze. Tim did the same with his ropes and turned his head slightly towards the desk. Trickster was still on it but he was sitting with his legs over the side, facing Jason. Also facing Jason was a small pistol in Trickster’s outstretched arm. Tim knew his brother was kicking himself for not thinking Trickster might have weapons hidden throughout the room, or even that the gun might be a remnant of the last occupant of this office. But Jason was out of bullets.

“That is  _ quite  _ enough,” Trickster panted, all shadows of his reformed image gone. His slicked back black hair stood at all points now and blood from his shoulder wound and facial lacerations was starting to stain the three piece. But his eyes were the most changed, back to a frantic panic, darting between his captive and his attacker, the former coolness lacking. “I’ve had enough of the Red Hood for one lifetime.”

Jason chuckled. Trickster stiffened at that and gripped the gun tighter. 

“Something funny, Red?” he spat. “I thought  _ I  _ was the one pointing the pistol at you!”

“You’d be surprised how many lifetimes one man can get.” Jason shrugged. Tim would have huffed if he still wasn’t holding his breathe. He was really tired of his brother’s casual relationship with death. Actually he was just tired at this point. It had been a long day--night-- _ ordeal _ . Nevertheless, he quietly tried to continue gnawing at the ropes. 

Trickster pondered the statement for a moment, then peered at Jason. The vigilante hadn’t moved but he’d relaxed into a casual stance, hands hanging loosely by his side, ready to ball into fists at any moment. 

“You don’t fear your death,” Trickster finally stated. 

“Been there, done that. Didn’t agree with me.”

“But you fear  _ his _ .” Jason’s eyes widened as Trickster smiled and pivoted his arm ninety degrees. Tim froze once again as he felt the barrel of the gun on his head. He let the dagger clatter to the dirty floor. 

“Look at me boy,” Trickster hissed. Tim slowly raised his eyes to meet his captor’s. If they’d been wild before, they were crazy now. 

“You-you won’t get your money,” Tim found his voice, surprised how scared it was. 

“I don’t need money,” Trickster cackled. “Not when the whole city will soon be destroyed! You were just a pretty bonus. Gotham will finally be razed to the ground, brought back to the hell from which it came! No Bats, no police will stop me! And least of all…” He glanced his murderous gaze to Jason, fists clenched but holding his position. “...an assassin with a bleeding heart.”

Tim chose that moment, when Trickster was distracted, to wrench himself free of the ropes and reached for the gun. His cries of pain and terror mixed with Trickster’s scream of triumph as the trigger was pulled. 

The gun went off and Jason’s world went red. 

His brother’s head snapped back. Tim tumbled sideways, finally free of the chair. He fell with a huff but something clattered in his hand as well. Trickster was standing, somewhat in shock but, Jason finally realized, missing his gun. 

“A normal boy’s not that quick,” the villain stuttered to himself. 

No longer held by the threat, Jason swooped in and closed the gap between the two of them. He grabbed Trickster by the rumpled suit collar, lifting him slightly. All the rouge’s fight had left him as quickly as the bullet. His eyes widened as Red Hood pulled him closer. 

“That boy,” Jason whispered through gritted teeth “is my brother.”

Before he could even form sounds of protest or pleas of salvation, Trickster was thrown across the room. He landed against the wall of windows, which buckled against the new weight. Some of the panes fell through to the other side, falling 40 feet and smashing against the plant floor where the ground assault was nearly over.

“Wa-wait,” Blood came faster from Trickster’s stab wound, mixing with the bit falling from new cuts where his face had met the windows. He held up his quivering hands as Jason advanced slowly, like a lion stalking his prey. No, Jason thought. A lion going in for the kill. 

“You--you’re going to take me to Arkham, right? Back to Central City?”

“Did you not hear what I said, shithead?”

Jason’s boot slammed into Trickster’s trembling face. Once. Twice. He brought his fist around and smashed Trickster’s nose. Blood erupted but Jason continued. He didn’t care Trickster’s blood was soaking his fist. He didn’t care three of the criminal’s teeth flew out. Or that the wall of windows was slowly shattering. 

“That’s my brother you kidnapped.” A fist met a jaw. “That’s my brother you tortured.” Bones snapped under boots. “You’re not getting out of his.”

“Ba’man do-n’t kill!” Trickster cried through broken teeth. He was scared and that made Jason pleased. He deserved to be terrified. “You can’t hurr me!”

“Do I look like Batman?”

Jason thrust his boot forward and met Trickster’s chest squarely. The final panes of glass shattered, the whole window giving way, and fell. Trickster reached his arm out, eyes wide with alarm. For a moment he was level with Jason. Then he fell with it. 

If the fighting on the plant floor hadn’t been over before, it ended when the boss met the ground level. Everyone below froze. Gang members stopped resisting. Green Arrow paused with ammo in his quiver. Robin stared at the mangled corpse in the middle of the floor. Only Nightwing moved. Dick turned to the window Trickster had come from. Red Hood stood there, one boot on the broken sill, looking down at the carnage. Jason met his brother’s eyes and for once, didn’t look away. He had done the right thing. He knew it. Even if Dick didn’t agree with him, even if  _ Bruce  _ didn’t, they should know, deep down, Jason was right. They dealt with a lot of shitty criminals. But criminals that come after their family forfeited their right to live. The Waynes of all people should have learned that by now. Finally Dick sighed and turned to Damian, ushering him away and calling an order for Oliver. 

Jason stood at the shattered window for half a second more then raced back to Tim. 

His little brother hadn’t moved from his side on the floor but crouching down, Jason could see he was breathing. Jason pulled off his helmet, domino still over his eyes, and gently turned Tim on his back. 

As soon as he’d gotten free, Tim had reached up to Trickster’s gun. If it had been him, Jason would have tried to grab it and turn it around, but ever the genius, Tim ran the calculations and had simply pushed the gun  _ up  _ so when it went off a split second later, it grazed his head, rather than going through it. Still, as Jason pushed his brother’s clumped black bangs away, there was a lot of blood. 

Reaching into his jacket, Jason fumbled with gauze he always carried for emergencies that seemed to be getting frequenter. He pressed it against Tim’s wound, deciding to worry about the smaller ones later. 

“It’s alright, Little Bird,” he murmured, more for his sake than Tim’s. “You’re gonna be fine.”

Tim stirred. He winced, his eyes fluttering open and met his brother’s. He was still disoriented but could feel Jason’s trembling hand against his forehead. Everything hurt. His head was swimming and also on fire. His arm had painful pins and needles spiking up and down it. His ribs were bruised, hopefully not broken, and his knee was throbbing. Jason’s tremors didn’t help anything. 

“Use tape...to hold it still,” Tim managed to croak. 

Jason flinched then visibly sagged in relief, bringing his other gloved hand to cup his brother’s face gently. 

“See Timmy,” he whispered. “What would we do without you?”

Jason had managed to wrap medical tape around Tim’s head to hold the thick gauze in place and sit him up by the time the rest of their rescue party raced up the stairs to the office. 

Damian was first in and looked uncharacteristically...worried. He knelt down by Tim’s side and put a small hand on his brother’s shoulder. For once, Tim didn’t shrink away from his touch.

“You look terrible, Drake,” Damian said after a pause. 

“Better than dead.” Tim would have smiled if his face didn’t hurt so badly. 

Damian met his imaginary smile. “Much better.”

Dick came in and Oliver continued to search the rest of the upper floor. He figured he’d give the boys a moment together. Also, given Dick’s heavy set brow, Ollie didn’t want to be around the Bat family for the next few minutes. 

Dick crouched by Tim’s feet. He glanced at Damian on his right then Jason on his left. His brother didn’t acknowledge him. He continued to press the gauze and support Tim with his arm around him. Finally Dick looked at Tim. Damian was right, as always. His younger brother looked like hell. But he was alive. And that’s all that mattered. 

“How you are feeling, Little Bird?” Dick broke the growing tension. 

Tim sighed but managed a faint tug at the corners of his mouth. “Just peachy, bro. Leave me any baddies?”

“All of Trickster’s men were either rounded up or fled,” Damian stated, ever the literalist, dropping his hand from Tim’s shoulder. “But we will apprehend them all and they will face their punishment for what they did.”

“No need,” Dick said and saw Jason’s lips press together for an instant then settle back to a scowl. He brushed it off. “With their boss no longer  _ in command _ , Trickster’s gang will have nothing left to come back to. They’re done with this place and whatever Trickster was planning, we’ve broken up. They’ll find a new criminal to consort with soon enough.”

Jason pushed down the swell of anger that threatened to crest. He wanted to scream at Dick. How could he let those people go? They were just as complicit as Trickster in what Tim went through. They all needed to be brought to the right form of justice.  _ His  _ form of justice that Dick was too weak to accept. But then Jason glanced down at Tim. He often forgot Tim was only 15, too young to be so old, but he looked just small now. He looked like a kid. Jason thought back to what Dick had said, only hours ago.  _ The only thing that was my fault is thinking you cared about someone other than yourself _ . Maybe his time in Bludhaven had made Dick grow distant or maybe he just never knew his brother at all. Because Jason didn’t care about himself. He didn’t care if he died again, he didn’t care if he got injured on patrol, he didn’t care who or how many baddies he hurt. He did only care about one thing; his brothers. And Dick was pretty much a stranger at this point. 

“Come on, Timmy.” Jason gathered his little brother up, careful not to jostle his bad knee, and swept past Dick. “Let’s go home.”


	9. You have some weird people sitting next to you

Three days later, Bruce arrived back at the manor. When he agreed to help the League with an off-planet mission, he had fully resigned himself to come back to chaos. Bickering, fighting, at least some kind of brush with the police or fire department, and the house looking like Red Tornado had gone haywire again. His kids certainly were charmers. 

But when he set his bag down in the front foyer, he heard nothing. Head cocked to one side, he wandered into the kitchen and found it spotless. No exploded microwave, no baking experiment gone awry, not even a broken glass. Maybe they had killed each other then come back as ghosts to cover the evidence? Bruce wouldn’t put it past his stubborn, genius, ravenous boys but the growing murmur of the television guided him out to the living room. 

His boys, all of them Bruce noted with Dick’s presence, were scattered across the couch and armchairs, watching the flat screen. Damian rocked gently in the recliner, a half attended to sketch on his lap. Dick sat with his legs cross on the armchair opposite, eyes on the screen but occasionally flitting to the couch where Tim and Jason sat. Jason was sitting, facing the movie, but Tim stretched out, his legs across his brother, one knee looking suspiciously packed with ice. 

Bruce briefly noted they were watching a French noir film on that he knew nobody could stand except Tim, before Alfred walked in from the hall.

“Ah, Master Bruce.” His clipped British accent sounded tired. Not from cleaning the house though, Bruce suspected. “Good to have you back. I trust the business trip was successful?”

“No intergalactic wars any time soon,” Bruce mused, and looked back at his sons, all turned to him now. Jason had a bandage around his leg and arm but honestly Bruce expected worse from him favorite problem child. But he then realized with a start that Tim had also bandage, wrapped completely around his head, packed tightly at his forehead. He also had a long set of stitches running halfway across his face and his arm in a sling. But he didn’t look tired at least. And Tim was always tired. Dick and Damian also seemed to be a little beaten but no worse for the wear. So they didn’t do it to each other. There’d be far more blood otherwise.

“So…” Bruce leaned forward against the couch as casually as possible for the world’ greatest detective, and slowly turned his piercing blue gaze to each of his boys, waiting for them to squirm before moving to the next. He finally settled on Jason. “Anything happen while I was gone?”


End file.
